


Forget

by theruinedcastle



Category: Damages
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theruinedcastle/pseuds/theruinedcastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patty hires a new nanny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** Yes. Through S04E01.  
>  **Prompts:** _nice, fake_. Written for [Porn Battle XIII](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/500924.html?thread=31772860#t31772860).  
>  **Disclaimer:** _Damages_ belongs to Sony and KZK and other people who are not me. No infringement is intended. I'm not making any money from this.

There’s a shallow innocence to Holly that makes you want to roll your eyes at every sweet smile and obedient nod, to balance out that wholesome image with something much more grounded in reality. So naturally she seems to know exactly what to say, when to say it, and how, but you’ve seen this act before, and in better disguises.

At any rate, it seems to have served her well. Two of her recommendations come from female partners at prestigious law firms (a pattern, to be sure) who can’t recommend her highly enough.

“Women trust me,” she says with a pretty smile when asked why she’d worked so well with them. It’s a statement you choose not to respond to and instead review the shortcomings of her predecessors and then dictate what you expect of her. She seems competent enough, and Catherine really does need a nanny. Little Catherine, who is soft-spoken and pure and needs someone nurturing and nice. Holly seems to fit the bill.

Until she doesn’t. Maybe you could overlook the birthday cake that directly conflicts with Catherine’s diet, the same diet you’d written out for Holly on her first day, but the young woman feels it appropriate to belittle you without quite saying anything expressly offensive:

_It's... you forgot her birthday._

And:

_You’re an incredibly busy woman. I understand._

And then later, in the kitchen, after Catherine has gone to bed:

_And don't worry about forgetting her birthday. You have a lot on your mind. The big deposition's coming up._

She’s rubbing salt into the wound, and she knows it. Is she purposely trying to provoke you?

Perhaps you shouldn’t have trusted her. Perhaps you’d been careless.

“You’re careless,” you tell her, firing her a moment later. Because really, if she can’t follow simple instructions, can’t find an alternative dessert that would have suited the occasion just as well, then what use is she? That’s what you pay her to do.

Paid. Paid her to do. Her last check is waiting for her downstairs, and she goes upstairs to pack, per your orders, a bewildered look on that deceptively sweet face.

What a waste. You resume your work.

And then the alcohol you’ve been consuming for the better part of the evening finally catches up with you, full force, and the words on the screen start to blur. You shut down your laptop and rinse out the glass of wine that would not be empty had you known you’d be relieving the nanny of her duties tonight. The same nanny who storms into the kitchen and rudely reaches around you to yank her purse off of the counter as some sort of weak, final act of defiance. This doesn’t phase you in the least, of course, but for the briefest of moments, before your gaze fully focuses, her features are nothing but a blur and all you see is the long, brunette hair and the wide, exaggerated eyes. The resemblance takes your breath away.

She comes to an abrupt halt near the trash can, where she’s caught sight of what’s inside.

“This is really about the damn cake?” she asks, and for a moment, she sounds just like, just like--

The next thing you know, she’s spread out on the counter and you’re knuckle deep in her cunt. Your grunts are offset by her gasps and sighs and the occasional, tinkly little laugh, which is all wrong, all wrong.

“Be quiet,” you tell her, and slam a hand against her mouth, knocking her head back against the upper cabinets. Much to your surprise, she moans and bucks her hips, which is right, exactly right. The adherence to this illusion is rewarded with the curling of your fingers, and she arches, and you find yourself biting through a navy blouse that’s exactly the same kind of ruffled bullshit _she_ wears, and then all too quickly her thighs clamp around your hand and her cunt clenches around your fingers and neither of you can catch your breath.

Before you can recover, before you can wrap your mind around just what is happening, she slips off the counter and presses her face between your legs. You grab fistfuls of brown hair and she opens wide and eagerly mouths at you through your slacks. You have a quick mind and quite an imagination, and though it’s over in less than a minute, that’s enough. That’s enough time to believe someone else is in this kitchen, on their knees, and you come biting back her name.

_Ellen._

After, she tries to kiss you on the mouth, but she is clearly Holly now and you turn away. She doesn’t seem particularly wounded by this, and instead begins to explain what you should do should Catherine wake during the night. You’ve just used the girl, so you allow her to speak as if you haven’t been present for the last two years of your granddaughter’s life. In the end, you aren’t the only one that got what you wanted; you’ll add your name to the list of female lawyers at prestigious law firms and give her a sterling recommendation. She was good with Catherine, after all.

When Ellen calls the next day, you put the incident behind you, forget all about it, in the same way that you forget that Ellen knows the truth about Ray Fiske, and that she’d once held a gun to your head.

You don't forget at all.


End file.
